


jumping jacks

by popunkarts



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Panic Attacks, Polly Shelby - Freeform, ediths my oc shes small and polly's pretend daughter, michael gray - Freeform, michael gray has a panic attack, michael shelby - Freeform, polly gray - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27413074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popunkarts/pseuds/popunkarts
Summary: this is my first peaky fic! posted on my blog pollyrepents.tumblr.com too. hopefully nothing is too OOC. feedback welcome!
Relationships: Michael Gray & Original Female Character(s), Michael Gray/Polly Gray
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	jumping jacks

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first peaky fic! posted on my blog pollyrepents.tumblr.com too. hopefully nothing is too OOC. feedback welcome!

The last time Michael’s teeth chattered so hard it was the middle of the summer a little more than two years prior to the moment he stood in. His little brother had fallen from the tree behind the church their mother shepherded them to every other Sunday when she had finished the baking early. Michael--he was still Henry then, was wearing his week’s cleanest clothes and his little brother tried his hardest to keep his pants clean as Michael chased him down the cobblestone road to the awaiting hymns and creaky wooden pews. They always sat in the back, whispering quietly to each other as their mother continued the well rehearsed dance of sit, stand, kneel and bowing her head in the second pew from the front.

Now he sat on the steps in his pinstripe suit as his mother confessed the things weighing her down inside the dark confessional, his teeth chattering and hands trembling as he waited.

He could still hear the choking of Father Hughes if his breath quieted for too long. The shallow breaths could convince him that the same stench of copper and frankincense was filling his nostrils as it had that night, closing his eyes brought back the weight on his knees on that stone floor, the grip on his knife and dampening cassock between his fingers suddenly reappeared.

He could not stop reliving the murder he deserved to commit.

He had cornered him the same way Hughes had all those times.  
He had cornered him the same way he knew the bastard had cornered other little ones, countless others, under the guise of confession or a one-on-one sermon or monitoring their penance to make sure it was done properly.

No matter how much he convinced himself he deserved it, Michael couldn’t shake the weight from his chest.

“Michael!” 

He could have thought it was Polly if he had mistaken the excitement for urgency in the small voice that had called to him. It was accompanied not by the clicking of heels, but by the thudding of small shoes stolen handed down from an older brother figure or stolen from a smaller make believe niece that had told him his cousin Edith was making her way toward him. He looked up, the small girl’s cheeks rosy and spread with a wide smile as she raced toward him. 

“Michael!” She repeated, almost a cheer as she neared him.

He tried his best to pull himself together, standing up and stubbing out his disappearing cigarette under his foot to give his hands an excuse to dig in his pockets, searching for his case and lighter. His chest rose slowly as he tried to stop his shaking, his body fighting against the tweed of his waistcoat and the weight of his coat pressed against his chest.

“Hello, Edith.” He forced a smile for the sake of the little girl, the neighborhood rascal Polly had spoken fondly of throwing herself against his legs and wrapping her small arms firmly around them. 

“John said you were-” She panted loudly, her flair for the dramatics making Michael want to smile. “John said you were sad.”

“He did?” Michael spoke through his clenched teeth, afraid the rattling would startle the child. He looked down at her, raising his eyebrows as she pressed her chin into his stomach. “Why’d he said that, Edie girl?”

She narrowed her eyes, the corners of her lips turning upwards as she looked up at him. She looked at people too closely for Michael’s liking. She was nothing like his little brother had been-oblivious to others the way a child should be, only picking up on the big things that involved them. 

Not their little Edith.

Edith had managed to pick up on Tommy’s scrutinizing observation and John’s big mouth, two things he was sure Polly would have beaten out of them if she knew the little girl would soak them up like a sponge. 

“He said you were thinking a lot. The way he says I do when Tommy uses a tone or when Polly uses a tone when she catches me.”

“Doing something they’ve told you not to?” He felt himself smirk, taking a deep inhale of smoke. She nodded, pressing her cheek against the fabric of his suit and he dropped a shaky hand to busy itself trying to pull the visible knots out of her thick and curly hair, his blood thudding dully in his ears. 

He was sure it was braided this morning, he remembered John squeezing her between the desk and his chair as she whined and writhed and attempted to escape the man’s makeshift braiding workshop. He tried to conjure up the image again, a squirming child in the overly masculine betting den ten minutes after open because she moved too slowly, much to Tommy’s annoyance.

“John makes me do jumping jacks when I get sad.”

It was so muffled by her smushed cheek and his rattling breaths he almost couldn’t make it out.

“Say again?” He leaned back a bit to try to look at her face.

“When I get upset and my breathing goes all-” She panted heavily, moving her shoulders up and down for a moment as she did. “John makes me do jumping jacks. He tried to make Arthur do them but Arthur told him to fuck off-” her lips clamed shut at the slip of her tongue, and she looked up at Michael with wide brown eyes. 

“That’s just between us.” Michael felt himself wink, the little girl nodded and tugged gently on the wool of her sweater sleeves, bringing them over her cold hands. “Do them!”

Michael blinked his eyes in surprise.

“Come on, then!” Edith pried herself away from him, the lack of heat seemingly not bothering her in the chill of Birmingham’s winter. “He says twenty at a time.”

“Oh, and you can count to twenty now?” If it was teasing or trying to find a way out of a circuit of exercise on the street, Michael couldn’t tell.

“I can count to a hundred!” She puffed out her chest proudly. “I can count better than Finn.”

“So can little Katie.” Michael made the girl giggle at the mention of John’s youngest as he obliged, standing upright and tossing his cigarette to the ground. He moved his jaw a bit, his hand coming up to attempt to rub some tension away.

“Ready?” Edith bounced excitedly on her toes, nearly tipping over before Michael steadied her.

At his nod, she jumped and flung her arms up, her fingertips brushing together as she clumsily spread her legs out and snapped back together. Michael copied her movement, his a bit more agile than the ten year old’s. They repeated their action as Michael tried to ignore the quizzical looks of the passersby, Edith giggling happily as they bounced and she counted along proudly.

“Nine-”

“Where’s your coat, Edith?”

The small girl stopped abruptly, looking past Michael and up the church stairs. Polly walked down the stairs behind them, heels clicking on the damp grey stone as she pulled her scarf from around her neck. “You’ll catch a deadly cold out in this.”  
Michael’s breath left him in puffs, his heart thundering in his chest but beginning to return to normal.

“I didn’t need one.”Edith panted, looking up at Polly as she fixed her scarf over the girl’s neck and shoulders the best she could. “I was running and I knew I’d get warm from it so I didn’t-”

“So John didn’t stop you, that’s it?” Polly pursed her lips as Edith looked to Michael for help. His mother turned on him and Michael tore his gaze from the soft brown eyes of the girl. “You could have wrapped her up in yours. I was only a moment.”

Michael cleared his throat. “We were warming up, anyways.” He slipped his hand into his pocket for a cigarette, cupping his hand around the end to light it. “Doing jumping jacks to keep her from running down the Lane. I figured everyone could do with a moment’s peace from Edith’s mayhem.”

Michael could see the little girl’s mouth open to declare that Michael’s told you a lie, Polly! The same way she had whenever Finn got away with a white lie on a whim, but she looked up at Polly with a grin that could clear Brimingham smog if she intended it to.

“My counting’s gotten good, Polly!” She clapped her small hands together, scrunching her nose up as Polly hummed. “Counted all the way up to a hundred without stopping.”

“Did you?” Polly humored the child, looking up to Michael with a soft hint of a smile.

Michael tilted his head to the side. “Close enough to it.”

Edith shivered against Polly, her teeth beginning to click together in the cold.

“Oh-see? Come on, Edith. Before the chill gets in there.” Polly softly tapped a finger to the left of Edith’s chest, grabbing a small hand in her own.

“Are we going to the Garrison, Polly?” She looked up at Polly then briefly down the road. “To see Arthur and them?”

“You’re going home, with me, for supper, Edith.” Polly gently tugged her hand as they started down the road at Polly’s pace.

“Wait!” Edith wrenched her hand from Polly’s practically throwing herself into Michael’s arms for a final goodbye.

“I’ll see you soon, Edith.” Michael lifted her up in a tight hug, taking a deep breath the same time she did, her weight against his front comforting and warm.

“Tomorrow.” She insisted, leaning back to press her clammy hands to his face. “We’ll play footy, with Finn.”

“Tomorrow.”Michael promised in the same tone he made business deals, no idea if he could fulfill it. “Footy. With Finn.”

“And biscuits.” She attempted to whisper, her small voice carrying.

“If-”

“If Polly lets us.” Michael interrupted his mother, raising his eyebrows at young girl in his arms before setting her down.

“Bye, Michael!” Edith skipped her way to Polly, her hand finding the older woman’s again.

Michael’s shoulders rose as he took a deep breath, taking in the smoke of the factories behind him and the dampness the morning’s snow had brought upon the cobblestone surrounding him. For a moment, there was no copper scent, no gurgling and no iron grip on holy clothes. 

Just Birmingham, for the moment.  
Just home.

**Author's Note:**

> my peaky blog is pollyrepents.tumblr.com . talk to me there. :)


End file.
